In the Eyes of the Storm
by tlanthian
Summary: A young woman, Kaylee, with abilities she is learning to control, gets badly injured by an attacker shrouded in mystery. Peter and Sylar need her and her abilities to bring down The Company and anyone that threatens their loved ones. Sylar/Kaylee New Hero
1. Chapter 1

Chapter One

A young woman stands on the edge of an old widow's walk in small-town Maine. Since the railing surrounding the walk no longer exists, her toes freely dangle off the house's roof and she glances at them, takes a deep breath with her arms outstretched on either side of her, and then closes her eyes and exhales. It starts to rain suddenly from the dark gray clouds that appeared only moments before, slowly and lightly at first. The woman's eyebrows crinkle in concentration and the drizzling rain increases in intensity and frequency. A small smile appears on her face and as she opens her eyes lightening flashes in the sky behind her.

"That's more like it," she says contentedly.

Her toes leave the edge of the roof as she turns around and takes a step to make her way inside, but then she stops. Something's not right. There is someone on the roof across from her. As soon as she stops, a gun is fired. She doesn't recognize her attacker, even as the pain starts to register in her left shoulder. The impact of the bullet unbalances her and she falls backwards off the roof. Before she hits the ground she is caught by something and instead of falling to her death, she raises several stories off the ground and is flown to safety. The blood loss makes her woozy and she starts to lose consciousness, but before she completely blacks out she hears a man's voice. . .

"Hold on. Just hold on."


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two

A couple of minutes later, the woman jolts awake as an anguishing wave of pain sears her shoulder. She lets out a round of gut-wrenching screams. Her eyesight is somewhat blurred and the pain she is suffering makes it hard for her to focus on anything else. She is vaguely aware of other people in the room with her, but she can't trouble herself with who they are or what they are doing to her while she feels the warm blood slowly leaking out of her and onto the gauze covering her wound. In the midst of her distressing bellowing and while she remains unaware of it, the two men trying to help her, start arguing amongst themselves.

"I told you we should have taken her to the hospital."

"And I told you why we can't. Besides if I can't heal her, then they definitely can't. Give her another dose of morphine, will you?"

"I can't. We've already given her too much, and it's not working anyways. And what you're doing to her isn't helping either, Peter."

The man called Peter glares at his companion. He looks down at the screaming girl, with his hands hovering right over, but not touching her left shoulder and emanating a soft red glow. He refuses to give up and, with a determined look on his face; he concentrates all of his healing power into her wound. The woman, who is starting to grow hoarse at this point, lets out an even more horrific cry than any of the prior, during which Peter stops what he is doing and backs away from the tortured woman quickly.

Almost as immediately as he does so the pain in the woman's shoulder lessens, as does the volume and frequency of her screams, until her voice leaves her altogether and she is forced to lay on the bed with no way of communicating her pain. She continues to remain conscious by swallowing ragged breaths and trying to focus on the two figures by her bedside and what they are saying, but she is unable to make out much of anything.

With a resigned and regretful look on his face, Peter says, "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry." His eyes confused and searching, he looks up at the other man. "I don't understand. Nothing works. Why won't she heal, Sylar? What can we do?"

Sylar, who is standing to the right of the woman, considers Peter's question for a few seconds and then takes a couple steps toward her, approaching cautiously. He looks her over and then turns to Peter.

"Claire should be here in a few minutes. When she gets here, we will give her a transfusion of Claire's blood. Until then, all there is to do is wait."

Peter nods and dejectedly walks out of the room closing the door behind him. Sylar turns back towards the woman. He leans over her to redress her wound with some fresh gauze. He puts more pressure on it to staunch the bleeding and the woman lets out a pained whimper. Feeling that anyone else in his position would probably try to comfort her, Sylar then picks up her right hand off the bed, just high enough to hold it gently in his own. He is unused to doing this sort of thing.

_I wish I was anywhere but here right now. Anyone would be better at this than me. I am no good at this. What am I doing?_

He is just about to drop it back onto the bed and go join Peter out in the other room to await Claire's arrival, when he feels her hand squeeze his tightly. Surprised he looks at her face. She is still breathing heavily and her eyes are only opened a crack. They are still unable to focus completely, but feeling the hand holding her own, her instinct takes over and she clings to it with what little strength she has left.

Taking this as a good sign, Sylar leans in closer to her face. He whispers, "That's right, I'm here. Just hold on. Hold on to me."


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter Three

Seconds seem like hours as Sylar stands there holding her hand, feeling both useless and awkward. Her breathing has increasingly slowed during this time and her hand has lost some of its warmth. She closes her eyes and welcomes the dark.

Sylar hears the front door of the apartment open and slam closed. Peter and Claire's voices can be heard in the bedroom, if somewhat muffled by the bedroom door.

"We've tried everything else. This is the only way."

"Okay, here."

"Thank you. Let's just hope this works."

As the footsteps grow louder, Sylar hastily removes his hand from hers and backs away from the injured woman by a couple steps. Suddenly the door to the bedroom springs open. Peter rushes in holding the needle full of blood. He immediately administers it to the woman's arm. Peter, Sylar, and even Claire, who lingers in the doorway edged slightly away from Sylar, all of them stand and watch the woman anxiously to see if she improves.

Her gunshot wound disappears a few seconds after the dose is injected. And even though it appears that she has made a full recovery, she does not awaken. Peter checks her pulse just to be sure that everything is okay and finding it as such gestures to the others to leave the room quietly.

Peter, being the last one to leave the bedroom, shuts the door softly. He lets out a slow sigh and says, "That was too close."

"So, this is her?" Claire looks from the door to the two men's faces incredulously. "This is the girl that you two have been tracking down and trying to catch all this time?"

"The only reason we caught her…"

"_I _caught her," corrects Sylar, as he agitatedly starts to pace the room.

Peter shrugs his shoulders. Shaking his head, he turns to Claire and continues. "The only reason _Sylar_ caught her this time was because she was wounded." He glances at the bedroom door and then down at his shoes. "Which was lucky," he whispers shamefully.

Sylar stops pacing. "Lucky? She almost died." His voice is low but accusing. His eyes serious, his gaze focused on Claire.

Claire, whose shoulders are scrunched up, hugs herself. In a small voice, she asks, "Yeah, why was that? Why couldn't you heal her, Peter?"

"I don't know. I'm just thankful that you got here when you did." Her uncle rests a comforting hand on her shoulder. She starts to relax. She smiles at him.

Sylar, who has been watching this loving display, walks over to the couch and drops down onto it with a look on his face that vaguely displays both disgust and the smallest hint of longing.

Claire catches Sylar's expression. She walks away from her uncle and starts to make her way to the door. She stops halfway and turns to face Peter. "Yeah, well if you two don't mind I think I'm ready to go back to school."

Sylar lets out a small laugh. "Yes, you better run off and play at being a good little college student, before your father finds out otherwise."

Peter shakes his head, knowing that Sylar would love it if Claire left because she reminds him of everything he used to be. Taking Sylar's advice seriously, Claire picks up her purse and keeps walking. She's only a couple steps away from the door, when Peter stops her. "Wait. Claire you can't go. What if she gets hurt again?"

Sylar turns on the couch and gives a pointed look to Peter. "I deem that highly unlikely considering…"

Claire is quick to interrupt him, knowing what he is about to say. "Right, you two can take care of her now. You don't need me."

"No, we certainly do not," agrees Sylar.

"Sylar," Peter warns.

"What? She's right. Let her go live her so-called _normal_ life."

"Peter?"

Unwilling to let her go, but finding no reason to have her stay, Peter gives in. "Okay, I guess you're right. We've got things under control now."

Relieved, she takes another step towards the door. She pauses with her hand on the doorknob. Looking back at Peter, she inquires, "You sure?"

Peter hesitates, so Sylar takes it upon himself to answer. "I am."

Putting her hands on her hips, she glares at Sylar. She raises her eyebrows and looks askance at Peter. Peter laughs at the hilarity of it all. "I am too. Go ahead and go."

Claire smiles and then opens the door. As she is walking out, Peter adds, "Thanks again and be careful." With that she shuts the door and is gone.

"Ha ha ha 'be careful.' That's a good one. Ha ha ha. You know she's indestructible, right?"

Peter looks back at his partner in disbelief. Sylar is now laid out on the couch, laughing wildly. Peter just shakes his head. "You're crazy. You know that, don't you?"

"Yes, crazy like a fox. I know." Sylar's laughter is steadier now and in a few moments he is able to stop altogether. A small smile still lingers at the corners of his mouth. He sits up on the couch and strums his fingers on his knee unconsciously. He glances the bedroom door then, looks at Peter. "Someone should be in there in case she wakes up again. You know, to explain what's going on. And to make sure she doesn't disappear."

Peter, who has been shaking his in agreement, motions from him to the door and says, "Well, go ahead. No one's stopping you."

"I meant you."

"What? But you were doing so great, while we were waiting for Claire."

"Yeah? Well, I guess that makes it your turn," Sylar says, with a strong dose of annoyance in his voice.

Peter laughs and goes in to check on the patient.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter Four

Bright sunlight streaks in through thin curtains and lands on the young woman's cheeks and eyelids. The unwelcome heat makes her turn her head to the other side. She opens her eyes cautiously. Not knowing where she is, she tries to recall the circumstances that led her to this unfamiliar bedroom. Suddenly the memories of last night came rushing back to her. She remembers standing on the roof in the storm, seeing a person shrouded in darkness, the sudden impact of the bullet causing her to fall off the house, being caught in midair, searing pain raking her left shoulder, and screaming; lots of screaming.

All of these fragments of memories swirl through her mind in a torrential wave. She gasps and throws the suddenly hot and constricting sheets off. Taking some deep breaths she slowly stretches her right hand over to touch her wounded shoulder and assesses the damage. Gingerly her hand caresses her shoulder and then more forcefully.

"What the . . .?"

Confusion etched on her face, she quickly sits up in bed. She is looking down at her completely healed and pain-free shoulder, when something stirring by the window causes her to jump out of her skin in surprise.

While he kept watch last night, Peter had inadvertently fallen asleep. Only moments before his patient had become aware of her presently healed condition, he had been haphazardly snoozing in a chair next to the window with his head lolling back and his mouth hanging open, letting a small string of drool creep out and drip onto his T-shirt. His nap was, however interrupted by the woman's voice and he had just started to right himself and wipe the drool off of his chin, when she sat up in bed and then suddenly vanished.

Peter sat there is a stupor for a few seconds, not quite sure what just happened. Then it hits him. "Wait! Don't leave! SYLAR!"

Sylar sprints into the room. "What is it? Where is she?"

"She . . . I fell asleep and-" Peter looks from his companion to the vacant bed and back again perplexed.

"You WHAT?"

"I know I'm sorry. I saw her for a split second; then she was gone."

The woman isn't really gone. She is just in a vaporous state, which was part of her ability, and is now floating around the ceiling in the form of a warm breeze. The fearful surprise she feels is the reason why her body is now gaseous.

She is trying to calm down now, so that she can gather her fast moving molecules back together and re-condense, in a sense. She is also watching the two men studiously. Their faces reveal concern, which baffles her. She suddenly recognizes their voices as the men by her bedside last night. She decides to find out more about them, since they are most likely responsible for her recovery. The breeze that is the woman drifts away from the ceiling and softly wafts in front of the window. Collecting herself together, the wind starts to condense into a cyclone of mist and finally the woman stands with her arms lightly crossed, a few feet away from the window.

She is tapping her toes on the floor and strumming her fingers on her arms. Her loose flowing brown hair drapes about her shoulders and down her back, while some fly away bangs sweep over her left eye. In an effort at casualness, she blows them out of her face.

In the time it takes her to rematerialize, Peter and Sylar are pacing the room, their minds abuzz with worry trying to determine their next move. They don't yet comprehend her sudden reappearance.

They both stop suddenly gawk at their guest trying to grasp the fact that the lady standing nervously before them is indeed real, for she seems naught but a vision. The light coming from the window behind her illuminates her every feature. There is a constant breeze rustling her hair and making her deep red and orange dress swirl about her. Her skin is slightly tan and her eyes are bright reflecting pools of blue-green. Right now, her eyes crinkle around the edges and give the onlookers a questioning, yet annoyed, look.

"I didn't leave."

Peter blinks. "Oh." He cups the back of his neck with his left hand and then shrugs his shoulders. "Well good," he glances at Sylar, who nods his head, while keeping his eyes on the woman standing before them, "because we'd like to explain."

"Answers?" Peter nods to her. She looks out the window, then back at Peter. "Yes, answers would be good."

"You have questions?" Sylar asks.

She focuses on Sylar, meeting her eyes to his. Her gaze gives him the once-over and then rests again on his now slightly narrowed eyes. Her head tilted a little to the side, she replies, "Wouldn't you?"

Sylar doesn't budge under her scrutiny. Eventually Peter realizes he's not going to answer her, and takes it upon himself to continue the conversation.

"Okay, go ahead. Ask away."

She ends her staring match by blinking and looks over at Peter. Her eyebrows raised, she asks, "Names?"

"I'm Peter. My companion's name is Sylar."

For the first time during this exchange, Sylar looks over at Peter, with anger evident on his face and in his voice. "What have I told you about talking for me?"

Peter shakes his head while looking at the floor.

"Sylar?" When she says it, she draws it out, like she is testing it on her tongue. "Really? It sounds made up."

"Well, my given name is Gabriel, but everyone calls me Sylar."

"Why?"

"It's a long story."

"Okay then. Mine is Kaylee." Peter and Sylar exchange a quick look. "But, I take it you two already know that." Since neither one denies it, Kaylee clears her throat and continues the interrogation.

"Where," she asks, as she purposefully motions around the room.

"Oh, we're still in Maine, about five miles from where you were," Peter states.

Nodding her head in acknowledgement, Kaylee asks her next question. "How," she says while gripping her left shoulder.

"Right. That is going to take longer to answer. First, what do you remember?"

Sylar takes a quick step forward and raises his hand to Kaylee as a symbol to stop. "Before you answer," he then looks at Peter. "There's food out in the kitchen and none of us has eaten. We can pick up where we left off after breakfast."

"Okay," Peter agrees.

With the boys giving her questioning looks, Kaylee concedes. "Lead the way, Gabe."


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter Five

With his eyebrows scrunched together, Sylar turns around and heads for the bedroom door. He reaches for the doorknob and hesitates for a second.

"Gabe?" He mutters incredulously under his breath. Sensing the others behind him, he opens the door and continues into the living room.

Kaylee and Peter, a few steps behind, look at each other. Peter gives her a crooked, yet reassuring smile. She is taken a little aback by his open and freely given kindness. Sometimes she forgets about how caring and compassionate people can be, even to complete strangers. She tries not to let on how surprised she is by returning his smile with a raised eyebrow and twinkling eyes.

Through his smile, Peter mouths, "Gabe," silently and walks through the doorway after Sylar, his body shaking with unheard laughter.

Kaylee walks a few steps behind him. She glances around the room, trying to get some kind of bearings in this unfamiliar place. Not that being somewhere new was at all daunting for her, considering her lifestyle for the past two years.

_Yes, my ability definitely keeps me on my toes._

Right away she notices that the front door is directly across the living room from the bedroom door. Her bare feet pad softly on the hardwood floors that cover the whole apartment, as she passes the plush twin sea foam-green couches and follows Peter's t-shirt-clad back into the kitchen.

Peter plunks down onto one of the four metal-backed bar stools that encompass a stretch of counter, which separates the kitchen from the living room and doubles as a dining table.

Sylar is busy getting orange juice out of the refrigerator. On the counter lies a plate full of assorted muffins and a bowl of fruit. Peter grabs a granny smith apple and bites off a huge chunk of it, and then motions to Kaylee to join him while he attempts to chew it.

Kaylee is still unsure about these two strange men. She has a million questions buzzing through her head. She stands right at the end of the counter debating whether she should sit in the chair Peter is motioning to, which is right next to him, or if she should sit in one of the other two opposite from him. Sylar sits down across from Peter, after pouring three glasses of juice.

Kaylee bites her lower lip at this new development in her sitting dilemma. Both of them are watching her now and she realizes that her indecisiveness is putting them on edge. Peter's face displaying a nervousness that resembles what he looked like when he thought she was gone, suggesting he is worried that she is about to disappear again. Sylar's face wears an assessing gaze, as if he is also trying to calculate what her next move will be.

Kaylee heaves a small resigned sigh, knowing that she isn't going anywhere until she gets some real answers. She sits down in the stool next to Peter and grabs a blueberry muffin.

Breakfast is very quiet and strained. To break the silence Peter turns on the small television that is sitting on the counter. He turns up the volume and listens intently to the news. Kaylee is focusing on her second muffin, this one is lemon, glancing up every few seconds at her hosts and then back down to her muffin. Sylar is leaning back on his stool, listening to the TV, but watching Kaylee out of the corner of his eye.

When the weather segment comes on, Kaylee perks up.

"_An unexpected storm front moved in last night at around eleven and lasted for several hours. It finally cleared up at around three o'clock this morning. The weather has leveled off since then and is expected to stay sunny and mild throughout the day, with a slight chance of clouds . . ."_

Kaylee scoffs, "Yeah well, we'll see about that." She giggles a little at her joke while she finishes off her muffin. Peter shuts off the TV.

Turning towards her with a raised eyebrow and a slight smirk, Peter inquires, "Okay so now that you are recently feed and are feeling a little more comfortable around us, why don't we go sit in the living room and get everything laid out on the table?"

"Sounds good to me, Pete," Kaylee says. She moves swiftly over to the far couch and sits down. With both of her feet folded up under her, she crosses her arms over her stomach and waits some-what impatiently for them to join her.

Sylar and Peter follow and sit across from her on the opposing couch.

Peter speaks first. "I think it's best to start at the beginning."

Kaylee replies, "You're logic is sound."

Peter looks over at Sylar to make sure he's on board. Sylar, who is watching Kaylee, nods his head slightly, giving him the okay while keeping his gaze steady. Peter continues. "So, why don't you tell us what you remember of last night? Then we can fill in the gaps for you."

Kaylee withers a little on the couch. She thought they were going to tell her their side of things first.

_I guess it couldn't hurt to tell them my story first. After all they did save me. And they've been nice so far. So what difference does it make?_

A bit hesitantly, she says, "Okay? I guess. I was feeling good after work, very calm. So, I thought I could practice controlling my ability. I was up on the roof of the place I'm staying at and I had just gotten the weather the way that I wanted it. I turned to go inside, when I saw someone on the roof. Th-they… they shot me." Here, Kaylee falters. Her mind keeps replaying that moment: the impact of the bullet hitting her, the sound it made as it entered her shoulder, the pain so sharp and unexpected. It feels as if she is reliving it.

Sylar quickly notices her eyes getting hazy. He is over to her couch within seconds, grasping her shoulders and softly jostles her. "Kaylee, it's okay. You're fine now."

Kaylee snaps out of her trance. Just realizing now that he is holding her, she pulls back in surprise. Sylar retreats back to his couch, giving her some space. He glances over at Peter to gauge his reaction. Peter looks about as shocked as Kaylee.

"How did you…?"

Ignoring him, Sylar pointedly asks Kaylee, "Are you okay?"

She inhales unsteadily, and then lets it all out in a long exhale. "Yes, I'm better now." She gives him a hint of a smile. "Thanks."

He shrugs at her gratitude uncomfortably. In an effort at getting rid of all this unwanted attention from both of the others- _I just know that if I looked over there, I would see Peter gawking at me._- he says, "As you were saying?"

Kaylee's face drops. "Right. Well, I got shot and I fell. Then I wasn't falling anymore."

Sylar nods, "I caught you and flew you here, so that Peter could heal you."

She looks at the both in turn. "You can _fly_? And you can _heal_ people?"

Peter answers, "Well, not you as it turns out."

"I am confused. You _didn't_ heal me?"

"No, my niece, Claire, did."

"What?"

"Okay, you're confused." Peter sits up on the couch and leans over a little. Seeing that he has Kaylee's full attention, he continues. "Your wound was fatal, so the only way to save you was to heal you with my ability, but it wasn't working."

"I remember that. You were standing over me. There was red glowing light. I was in a tremendous amount of pain. I was screaming. You stopped and the pain lessened slightly. I laid there for what seemed like forever and then…" Sylar, who zoned out while Peter was talking, is now listening to her intently. "…then I passed out."

To be doubly sure, Sylar inquires, "That's all you remember?"

"Yes."

_So she doesn't remember me. _Not knowing whether he should be relieved or upset at this revelation, Sylar just mentally shrugs it off-whatever it was- and moves on. "Well, after you passed out, Claire got here and…"

Kaylee interrupts with, "How does she tie into all of this?"

"She was there with me when you fell. She followed us back to the apartment in her car. She got here a couple of minutes after you passed out."

"Okay. But I still don't understand how she could heal me when Peter couldn't."

Peter intercedes with, "Technically, she didn't heal you. Her blood did. Her ability is regenerative. If she gets hurt, her body heals itself very quickly."

"Oh."

"So we gave you a transfusion. And here we are." Peter raises his hands for dramatic effect, which Sylar scoffs at.

Kaylee would laugh, but she is still confused. Her voice edged with frustration, she asks, "But why? Why go through all that to save someone you don't even know?"

Peter and Sylar exchange a look.

Peter tries to put this as delicately as he can, "We were hoping you could help us with something."

"Help you," Kaylee says, perplexed. Then it dawns on her. "My power… You need my power for something."

It's not a question, but Peter answers anyway. "Yes."


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter Six

Three years ago...

Noah Bennet is a driven, hard-working man. He doesn't love his job, but he is good at it and usually has no qualms about the unsavory things that his job entails, because it is his belief that everything is for the greater good. Every mission is geared towards his ultimate goal of making the world safe, making it safe for his family, protecting his family from danger. He has never had any reason to question The Company's methods, until now.

He walks down the bright hallway with a confident stride and bored look on his face. He swipes the key card and pushes the pass code into the keypad the same as he always does. Only a brief hesitation when opening the door- so brief that even he wouldn't be able to detect it- is any indicator of the turmoil within.

_It's all for the greater good. To protect my family. To protect Claire._

After he fortifies himself, he realizes that his feet are leading right to where he doesn't want to go. His treacherous feet are taking him to the source of his inner angst, Level 5. The dark cement that covers the ceilings, walls , and floor echos the yells and screams coming from the prisoners in the cells just ahead of him. The evil faces that sneer and glare out of the bulletproof glass that separates him from them remind him why he is in the right.

_They are dangerous. They deserve to rot. _

Each step he takes, each captive reaffirms Noah. And it is with his confidence restored and his head held high that he finds himself at the last cell on the block; confined within this cell is Noah Bennet's conscience.

Noah lets out a heavy sigh that seems to deflate him of his pride and leaves him looking more like the tired, worrisome, worn-out man that he knows himself to be. He lowers his head and stands there for a short while before finally deciding, against his better judgement, to enter the cell.

Sensing the air shift at the opening of the door to her cell, the captive opens her heavy eyelids slightly. The onslaught of bright white light from overhead forces her to shut them again. She uses all of her allotted strength to turn her head to the side in order to see her jailer. The cement slab that she lies on shoots pain to the back of her head when she does this. She feels gratitude in that the rest of her immovable body is numbed by the drugs in the IV. The gratitude is very slight and as bitter as the taste in her mouth. More slowly than before she opens her eyelids. Dark gray cement wall is the first thing she recognizes, followed by the shadow of a person, her visitor.

Noah stays out of her line of sight, cowardice overwhelming him. His head still hangs down in shame. He rocks back and forth on his feet with his hands in the pockets of his pants. Then he hears a small breath escape from the woman in the cell with him and he risks a glance at her. He understands that she doesn't have the strength to speak and is trying to communicate with him, so he reluctantly goes to her to face his guilty conscience.

Her eyes move to him as he enters her vision. Her mouth is slightly open but she has not the strength to close it just yet.

_Ounces of strength. That is all I have. Ounces every few hours._

She thinks with only a whisper of the rage that she knows she should be feeling.

_It's the drugs. They control everything now. Every muscle, every bone, every molecule in my body, even my emotions. Especially my emotions. I feel like I'm made of cotton. And when I do use the little control that I possess- that tiny amount- I feel too much. Too much pain. It's like my body doesn't belong to me anymore. It belongs to them._

A tear escapes and rolls down her cheek. She sees him clearly. She recognizes his tallness, his brown, slightly receding hair, the shape of his nose, and above all else, she recognizes his brown eyes gazing out at her behind his horn-rimmed glasses. Two more tears leak out of her before Noah loses it and closes the gap between them. He kneels down beside her, rests one hand on hers laying at her side and the other he uses to brush her bangs off her forehead.

"Oh god. Don't, please don't cry. I...I am so sorry." Noah looks pleadingly into her beautiful eyes. Eyes that remind him so much of Claire's. But instead of the forgiveness that he is searching for, all that he sees staring back at him is haunting and painful resentment. "Oh, Kaylee..."


End file.
